


Lay Your Head Down

by hannasus



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dialogue-Only, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 19:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4233870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannasus/pseuds/hannasus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of miscellaneous Steve/Sharon Tumblr prompt fills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shh, c’mere…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve/Sharon, “Shh, c’mere…” A dialogue-only prompt submitted by anonymous.

“Shh, c’mere…”

“Sharon?”

“I’ve got you. Everything’s okay.”

“Sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t be sorry. Here, lay your head down. Better?”

“Yes.”

“Liar. What was it this time?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t.”

“You know you always feel better when you talk about it.”

“My head’s too heavy on your—”

“No it’s not.”

“I don’t want to crush you.”

“You’re not, now shush. What’s the point of having breasts if you can’t cradle your boyfriend’s head on them when he’s sad.”

“They’re very nice breasts.”

“Thank you. They’re pretty fond of you, too.”

“It was Bucky and the train again.”

“I thought so. You always wake up more violently from that one.”

“Sorry.”

“I told you not to be sorry.”

“I still am.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“No. It’s the same as it always is. You’d think maybe the dream would stop now that I know he’s alive, but I guess I’m not that lucky.”

“Are you okay?”

“Mmm. Better now.”

“Good.”

“Sharon?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t ever leave me.”

“Never. You’re stuck with me.”

“Good.”


	2. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve/Sharon, “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” A dialogue-only prompt submitted by anonymous.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Steve … ”

“I’ve got you, Sharon.”

“The shooter—”

“Barton’s on him.”

“He might need backup.”

“He’s got it. He doesn’t need me.”

“Is it bad?”

“I’ve seen worse.”

“That’s not as comforting as you think it is.”

“It’s not bad.”

“Really? ’Cause it hurts like a mother—”

“Language, Agent Carter.”

“Don’t use that old biddy routine on me, Rogers, I’ve heard words come out of your mouth that would make a merchant marine blush.”

“Got you smiling, though.”

“That’s not a smile, it’s a grimace of pain—OWW!”

“Sorry, just trying to get some more pressure on it.”

“Did it get the artery? You can tell me.”

“It didn’t get the artery, you’re gonna be fine.”

“I’d sit up and look for myself but I think I might pass out.”

“No passing out on me, Carter. Medevac are only two minutes out.”

“You look scared.”

“I’m not scared, I just don’t like seeing you in pain.”

“You’re even handsomer when I’m dying.”

“Your gallows humor isn’t as funny as you think it is.”

“Got you smiling, though.”

“That’s not a smile, it’s a disapproving frown.”

“Hey, Rogers, I just remembered something.”

“What?”

“I fucking hate Mumbai.”


	3. What happened doesn’t change anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve/Sharon, “What happened doesn’t change anything.” A dialogue-only prompt submitted by pookharvey.

“What happened doesn’t change anything.”

“You were targeted because of me.”

“I’m an intelligence operative, Steve, it’s hardly the first time someone’s taken a shot at me. As you know very well.”

“But I’ll bet it’s the first time someone’s taken a shot at you because of whose girlfriend you were.”

“Not true. Back in middle school Jenny Hance brought a supersoaker to school because—”

“Sharon.”

“Steve Rogers, you, of all people, do not get to go all macho and overprotective on me about this.”

“I’m not being macho. I’m showing a perfectly reasonable degree of concern for your safety.”

“Says the guy who regularly jumps out of airplanes without a parachute.”

“I can survive a jump from an airplane. But you are not invulnerable to bullets.”

“You didn’t get like this when I got shot in Mumbai, and that one actually hit me.”

“This is different.”

“Why?”

“Because this was because of me. Because we’re together. I just think maybe a little distance—just for a little while—”

“No. Absolutely not. Between your work and my work, we barely see each other as it is. I’m not giving up a single second of the time I do have with you. Nothing is worth that.”

“Your safety is.”

“There’s no such thing as safety. It’s an illusion—a lie we tell ourselves so we can sleep better at night—and you should know that by now. If they want to get at me, they will. So let them try. I’m not that easy to kill.”

“You are the stubbornest, most infuriating, foolhardy—”

“Beautiful, smart, and generally perfect woman you’ve ever known?”

“That too. But right now I’m focusing on the stubborn part.”

“Tell me, superhero, where in the world do you think I could possibly be safer than right here in your arms?”

“Mmm, you may have a point. Does that mean you’d be willing to stay here in bed with me forever?”

“That, I might be willing to consider. You’ll have to do some convincing, though.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I can be _very_ convincing.”

 


	4. You actually weren't kidding about the smell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers: "You actually weren't kidding about the smell." Submitted by mizzy2k.

“You ready?” Steve asks, his eyes shining with excitement.

“I guess?” Sharon says. He’s being weirdly enthusiastic about this sandwich he wants to make her, so she’s trying to play along like a good girlfriend. It’s a nostalgia thing, she supposes, but she can’t really imagine being this psyched about some smelly old cheese.

“Brace yourself.” He unwraps the package of Limburger and pushes it across the counter toward her.

Sharon leans forward and takes a tentative sniff. “Okay, wow,” she says, leaning away again immediately. “You actually weren’t kidding about the smell. Holy shit.”

“I warned you,” he says, smiling as he unwraps the rye bread. “It tastes better than it smells, though, I promise.”

“It’d have to,” Sharon says, swallowing a mouthful of the dark German beer Steve bought to go with his disgusting sandwiches. The taste is almost strong enough to chase away the smell of the Limburger. Almost, but not quite.

“When I was a kid, our upstairs neighbor, Mr. Kaskel, would give me half of his Limburger sandwich whenever his wife would babysit me, and it was a real treat.”

Sharon makes a face as Steve cuts into the stinky cheese and spreads it on a slice of bread. “I’ll remind you that it was the Great Depression and you were probably so hungry you would have been grateful for a sandwich made out of the inside of an old shoe—which is exactly what that smells like, by the way.”

“It’s not that bad,” he insists, shaking his head.

“Steve,” she says, arching an eyebrow. “It smells like cheese that’s been eaten and then vomited into a latrine.”

He laughs. “You’re exaggerating.”

“It smells like a landfill filled with dead possums wrapped in wet socks.”

“Very funny.”

“It smells like Gary Busey’s urine after eating asparagus.”

He frowns. “I’m not sure who that is, but that’s disgusting.”

“If _Fifty Shades of Grey_ was food, this is what it would smell like.”

“Eat your sandwich,” he says, pushing a plate toward her.

Sharon eyes the Limburger sandwich her dreamy, super-hot boyfriend just made especially for her. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” he says. “Just try it.” And then he gives her the big doe eyes he knows she can never resist. “For me.” 

_Unfair._

She picks up the sandwich with one hand, pinches her nose closed with the other, and takes a bite.

“Well?” he asks cheerfully around a mouthful of his own sandwich.

Sharon sets her sandwich down and finishes swallowing. “It tastes like someone left a dead mouse in one of Barton’s boots for a month and then scraped the remains between two slices of rye bread.”

“You’re terrible,” Steve says.

“No, this sandwich is terrible, Steve. It tastes like FDR’s corpse ejaculated onto an old dirty sponge.”

“Hey! Too far!” Steve protests, winging a dishtowel at her head. “And as punishment for taking our greatest president’s name in vain, I’m gonna eat this whole sandwich and then kiss you without brushing my teeth first.”

“Oh, god, no! I take it back!” Sharon puts up her hands in capitulation. “I’m sorry I talked about FDR’s semen.”

“Yeah, we’ll see how sorry you are,” Steve says, gleefully taking another big bite out of his sandwich.


	5. Too many miles between us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: things you said with too many miles between us. Set post-Captain America: Civil War (so spoilers, obvs.).

“Hello?” Sharon said brusquely, expecting the unknown number to be yet another spam call.

Honest to god, if she got one more call from “cardholder services,” or one more bogus warning that the IRS was auditing her—

“Sharon?”

She stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, almost spilling her Turkish coffee down the front of her shirt. “Steve?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Sharon’s eyes closed briefly and she took an uneven breath before she started walking again. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m—I’m fine.”

He didn’t sound fine, but then how could he be fine after everything that had happened? He was alive, though. She’d assumed he was, but she hadn’t _known_ —not for sure—until now.

“Are you somewhere safe?” she asked him.

“Yeah, but I can’t really say anything—”

“I know, I don’t expect you to tell me where you are.” She glanced over her shoulder to check for traffic before crossing the street.

“I was just calling to make sure you were okay.”

“Me? Why wouldn’t I be okay?” she asked, quickening her pace.

“You risked a lot to help me, and I wasn’t sure what kind of fallout there might have been …”

“It’s fine,” she told him. Which was … mostly true. There’d been a thorough debriefing, but the situation had been such a clusterfuck all around that the agency had decided an official investigation would be too embarrassing. So in the end they’d just swept the whole thing under the rug. She had, however, been discreetly transferred out of the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre in the housecleaning that Everett Ross had unofficially dubbed “Operation Cover Our Asses.”

“So … you’re still with the task force?” Steve asked hesitantly.

“No, I’ve been transferred to a Joint U.S. Military Assistance Group in Athens,” Sharon said, crossing Monastiraki Square and heading for the entrance to the flea market.  

“Oh. I hear Greece is nice.”

“It’s lovely,” she said, dodging around a crowd of slow-moving tourists, “aside from the economic crisis and political instability.”

“That’s a demotion for you, isn’t it?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said quickly.

“Because of me.”

“I told you not to worry about it.” Sharon inserted herself into the crowd of morning shoppers wandering among the booths at the outdoor marketplace. “This kind of thing comes with the territory in my line of work.”

“This is the second time I’ve cost you your job. I’m kind of like a bad penny that way.”

“Both of those jobs sucked anyway, so really, you did me a favor,” Sharon told him. “How’s Barnes? Is he with you?”

“He’s …” Steve paused. “He’s safe.”

“I assume you’ve seen what they’re saying about him?”

“And about me,” he said bitterly.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s nothing I don’t deserve.”

“That’s not true,” she said, shaking her head at a flower selling trying to attract her attention.

Steve was quiet a moment. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything from Stark?”

“Not directly. Rumor is he’s not taking the Secretary of State’s calls anymore.”

“He’s okay, though?”

“He’s laying low.” Which wasn’t an answer to Steve’s question and she knew it, but it was all she had.

“And Rhodes?”

“Moved to a private rehab facility, last I heard.”

Steve sighed.

“It’s not your fault, Steve.”

“You know that’s not true.”

Sharon knew she wasn’t going to talk him out of his guilt trip, so she tried changing the subject. “How’s Nat?”

“How would I know?” he replied cautiously. God, he was a terrible liar.

“Please,” Sharon said, rolling her eyes. “You’re good, Steve, but you’re not good enough to infiltrate a facility like the Raft all on your own.”

He chuckled. “Nat’s fine. I’ll tell her you said hi.”

Sharon felt a lot better, knowing that wherever Steve was, Nat was with him. And presumably Sam and Clint, too. She was glad he wasn’t alone, that he had people he could rely on to help him through this.

“I better go,” Steve said. “I shouldn’t stay on the line too long.”

“I’m glad you called,” Sharon said. “I was worried about you.”

“I’m glad I called, too.” She couldn’t be sure, but it almost sounded like he was smiling.

There was so much she wanted to tell him, but now wasn’t the time or the place. There might never be a time or a place for them. So she kept it to a simple, heartfelt, “Take care of yourself.”

“Sharon …” Steve hesitated.

She held her breath waiting.

But all he said was: “Stay safe, okay?” And then he hung up.

Sharon paused in front of a table full of counterfeit designer purses, pretending to admire the merchandise while she waited for the burning in her eyes to subside.

“Looking for something special?” the stall merchant asked hopefully.

“Not today,” Sharon said, turning and walking away.


	6. Day Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Are you crying?" submitted by Anonymous

It’s their first weekend off together in two months, and it’s raining.

Sharon doesn’t mind. She’s perfectly happy to spend the day indoors, snuggling on the couch with Steve and watching TV.

She let him take charge of the remote, and somehow they’ve ended up watching one the of the Harry Potter movies on ABC Family. Whatever, it’s fine, because she’s wearing her comfiest socks, curled up under her favorite fuzzy blanket, with Steve’s arms around her, and for once no one’s shooting at them. Life is good.

Except Steve’s kind of a furnace, actually, and the blanket’s a little too much. She kicks it off, repositioning herself so her legs are on top of his and her head is resting on his chest. He waits patiently for her to stop squirming, and then drapes his arm around her shoulders again once she’s settled.

He smells like cookies, because he baked a batch of snickerdoodles earlier. There’s still a dozen of them sitting on a plate in the kitchen, waiting for her to get her second wind. Honestly, she can’t think of any way this day could be any better.

Sharon sighs happily and lets her eyes flutter closed, tuning out the sounds of the movie as she drifts towards sleep.

And then she hears Steve sniffle.

“Are you crying?” she asks, frowning.

“No,” he says, and sniffles again. The big fat liar.

She lifts her head. His cheeks are wet. Definitely crying.

“Seriously? You’ve seen it at least ten times.”

“I can’t help it,” he says, wiping his eyes. It’s both ridiculous and adorable, but they are not doing this today.

“It’s a kids movie, Steve.”

“Yeah, but Sirius—”

“No,” Sharon says. “I don’t want to hear about it.”

“He’s the closest thing to a father Harry’s every had!”

She holds out her hand. “Give me the remote.”

He shoves it deep into the couch cushions. “It’s almost over.”

“And what’s on next?”

He looks guilty.

“It’s a marathon, isn’t it?”

His lips form into a pout as he nods.

“Give me the remote.”

“But I love these movies!”

“I am not watching _Deathly Hallows_ with you again and listening to you cry for three solid hours. Not on our day off.”

“Fine.” He hands her the remote. “But nothing violent, okay?”

She settles back against him and flips to the guide, rolling her eyes. “Sure, because there’s no violence in the Harry Potter movies.”

“No _gratuitous_ violence,” he amends.

“Ah, here we go,” she says, grinning as she switches to _Cabin in the Woods_.

Steve makes a disapproving noise. “This is a horror movie.”

“It’s a comedy.”

“A horror movie with jokes is still a horror movie.”

“It’s satire,” she insists.

“Come on, Sharon.” He makes a grab for the remote, which she evades, pushing herself off of him scooching down the couch.

“You said I could pick!”

He lunges at her, pushing her back onto the couch and pinning her underneath him. “I also said no horror movies.” He plucks the remote out of her hand and flips off the television. “I guess we’ll have to find something else to do.”

“But however will we pass the time?” she asks, smiling as she wriggles her hips beneath him.

He makes a growling sound in the back of his throat and pins her hands over her head. “I don’t know,” he says, nudging her legs open with his knee. “We’ll just have to improvise.”

_Oh, right_ , she thinks as he kisses her. That’s how today could get better.


End file.
